All the Small Things (part 35)
Bloody hell. That hurt.
“What has four legs, four arms, and McFlies across the room?”
What has grey trousers, polished black shoes, and a terrible sense of humour?
“Fletch?” Harry tried to get up, but he was well out of breath, and the weight on his back was too much.
“Dougie,” the weight said. “He were on phone, he can't breathe. Fletch, he can't breathe.”
“Neither can I…”
“Danny, he's all right.”
“I might have bloody known. Get off me, you muppet.”
Fletch reached down, grasped Danny by the hand and pulled him to his feet, then did the same for Harry. The two boys stooped over, breathing hard.
“Dougie… My phone.” Danny looked at his hands, patted himself, checked his pockets. “Where's my phone?” He started looking around. “Doug was-”
“Danny, slow down.”
“Excuse me, sir, one of you dropped this.” A porter held up a phone. “Is everything all right, sir?”
Fletch smiled, held out his hand and nodded a thank you. He passed the phone to Danny.
“Dougie's OK. Tom found him.” He took a step back and waved them down. “He's a bit shaken, so let's just give them a few minutes.” Fletch braced himself for the explosion.
“Dougie-”
Doug lifted his head and rested it on the wall.
Tom stared. He thinks you're about to rip his entire life apart, and he looks like he's waiting for a bus.
“You're not being fired. Nobody's being fired. What meeting? That's… Why would you think…?”
Say well done, they could fly to the moon and back.
Tom shook his head and smiled. “We couldn't have a better bass player. I think you're brilliant, and God knows I've heard enough. You're great to have around… weird as hell, but…”
Was that a smile?
“But what you did yesterday, my computer, that was so amazing… And cheering Danny up, the other night. Why would we want to fire you? You're a hero.”
Doug's mouth tightened, his eyelids squeezed together, then opened.
Tom could almost feel a big freckled hand cover his mouth.
Doug's eyes glistened, then his mouth curled into a faint but definite smile. He let his head drop, then brought his hands together and entwined his fingers.
“I'm so fucking stupid.”
He looked up. “But you've been so, always angry. Everything I did, made it worse.”
“I'm the one who made things worse. Not you.” Tom looked down. “It's hard to explain. When I saw you were hurt, I was so scared, and so angry that you got hurt… I'm sorry.”
“Angry at me for getting hurt.”
“No.” Tom shook his head. “Angry at me because you got hurt, for letting it happen, then for being angry and scaring you. For not being able to fix it. So much going on, and I took it out on you. I'm all fucked up. I'm sorry, Dougie, I'm so sorry.”
“Are you sure he's all right? He sounded bad on phone.”
The three were seated in a corner of the lobby, close to the front windows, in three armchairs and a sofa clustered around a small table. The chairs were comfortable, but slightly too large, in the way some furniture of that age tends to be. Seeing his clients sitting with dangling legs reminded Fletch just how young they really were.
“Tom says he's fine, but he needs a few minutes. They'll come out or call us when he's calmed down.” Fletch peered at each boy in turn. “How about you guys? That was quite a collision.”
“I'm all right.” Danny picked at the chair. “Just want to see they're OK.”
“Harry?”
The drummer was gazing at the wall above the lifts. He came to with a start.
“Sorry.”
Fletch nodded. “I have a question. Why didn't you tell me about Dougie's bruises?”
Danny sank into the seat and groaned.
Harry sat up and looked Fletch in the eye. “If you found bruises on one of your kids, who would you trust?”
“All right, good point. And if I told you that Dougie - or any of you - is one of my kids? How do you think I feel?”
Harry narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
“I've…” Danny glanced at Harry. “We've seen people do some right shitty things to their kids. But maybe once we knew what happened, we could have…” He turned to Harry. The drummer nodded.
Fletch chuckled. “I guess that's a fair answer. Just try to remember, we are on your side. And it's not just because you pay us.”
He looked at his watch. “We've still got loads of time. You guys want a drink while we're waiting? My treat.”
“Tom, dude, you need to lighten up. I'm not worth it.”
Tom shrugged. “I think you are.”
“What, the stupid little kid who runs from everything?” Doug turned away.
“The tough little weirdo who never gives up. My friend.” Tom studied him. “But you're right, I do need to… I'm going to talk to someone. Someone Fletch knows.”
“Counseling?”
“Maybe. If that's what it takes.”
Doug nodded. His eyes drifted away from Tom's face.
“What happened out there? Fletch and me, we didn't get here until after.”
Doug shut his eyes and chewed on his lip.
“These girls, started screaming, jumped over the fence, grabbed me. All these cameras going off. Somebody hit me, my chest, my foot.”
He swallowed, took a deep breath, let it out, swallowed again. “Then, I don't know, Everything got messed up. I can't explain, really weird, the flashguns were like razors, the noise was blinding. When I tried to get away…”
Tom reached across and touched Doug's shoulder. Doug hesitated, then pulled himself close.
The balloon in Tom's chest swelled again. Hold on.
“I couldn't, it was all… Like that Radiohead video, the one with the caravan and the dog and the flies. There was this thing... I couldn't breathe, if I breathed it would get inside me and I could never come back. It felt like… this is really sick.”
Tom put an arm around Doug, forced down the sourness in his mouth.
Doug exhaled, shook his head. “No, I can't.”
“OK, Dougie, OK. God, I never knew. And this happens all the time?
“The flashes, sometimes, if there's lots. Never this bad.” He shook his head, then bit his lip. “The other thing, that was new. Didn't touch me, but next time…” He raised his arm. It was trembling.
“Sounds a lot like…” Tom shifted a little. “I read somewhere, you know Billie Joe Armstrong? and Mike Dirnt?”
“Green Day?”
Tom nodded. “They get panic attacks. It's what Basket Case is about. They do OK, must have some way to control it. Maybe we can ask them sometime.” He smiled. “When they come to one of our gigs.”
Doug snorted. “I'd better not hold my breath.”
Tom chuckled, then began to laugh. Doug joined in, and slid closer.
The laughter died down. “Is there anything we can do?”
Doug shook his head.
Wait.
He looked down, began to pick at one hand with the other.
Wait.
“It's stupid, I feel like…”
Listen.
“It's like… My nana's got this old radio. It works most of the time, but sometimes it crackles and hums and you can't hear anything. Know how she fixes it?”
“How?”
“She puts her hand on it. Just a touch, and it works fine.”
Tom considered this. Weird. You're more like a guitar lead, touch it and all hell breaks loose. “So if someone like Harry…”
“There's more than one?” Doug smiled. “Yeah, someone like Harry. And Danny, if he doesn't crush you to death first. Or…”
He grunted softly. “Pathetic, isn't it?”
“As pathetic as having a breakdown over a couple of dishes?”
Tom stroked Doug's shoulder, closed his eyes. Isn't this rich? Aren't we a pair? Me here at last on the ground, you in mid-air…
“Well, maybe not that bad.” Doug looked around. “How long before the hotel starts to charge us for the room? And where's the mini-bar? I need a drink.”
Tom smiled. Send in the clowns.
“Ready?”
Doug nodded. He thought for a moment. “I didn't throw up.”
“That's great,” Tom said. Me either.
Doug chuckled. “I feel like I forgot to do something…”
“Fletch said he'd get a car to take you home, if you want to give this a miss.”
Doug pushed himself up, and winced as his sore foot took some weight. “Nah. Got this far. Be stupid to go back.”
He balanced, then reached down for Tom. “Do you think… When you go to see this guy… maybe I could go too?”
Lyrics excerpted from Send in the Clowns - Stephen Sondheim
⇐ Part 34 - Part 36 ⇒